Why Do You Want To Know?

Who doesn't like to talk about him or herself? I thought I liked it. Now? Not so much.

The step in the adoption process subsequnt to the rather ministerial task of filling out the initial adoption application packet required us to complete an "Autobiographical Statement." The term "statement" implies a sentence . The Autobiographical Statement the adoption agency required us to complete was a seventeen page list of questions to be answered essay-style. It should have been called "Manifesto."

The questions were generally along these lines: Describe your family of origin; Describe your relationship with your parents; Describe your relationship with your siblings: Were you disciplined? How?; How will you discipline your children?; Describe how your parents met; Describe your parents' educations; etc.. When we decided to adopt, I knew the agency would be interested in me and my husband; I did not know of the extent of its interest in my parents. How tempting it was to say, "My Dad sells opium and my Mom works at Lovers Package."

After pages of questions about our respective parents, there were pages of questions about how my husband and I met, our conflict-resolution styles (bare-knuckle boxing); our views on discipline, what we did in our spare-time , and our assessment of the other's "weaknesses." Then there were the questions about our religious or spiritual beliefs. For forty-years I have been unable to articulate with any specificity just what my beliefs are, although they make sense to me. Now I was asked to tidy them up and place them in a pretty box for the agency's perusal.

One of my biggest character flaws is the expectation that when I wish to communicate information regarding myself or my opinions, others will care and will listen; however, I respond with righteous indignation should I be asked to offer such information at a time or under circumstances in which I am not in the mood to provide it. So the Autobiographical Statement sat on a desk for a few weeks while I fumed and pouted.

Clearly, the adoption agency must fashion a way to weed-out the pedophiles and the sociopaths from the pool of adoption applicants. But would those people really answer the Autobiographical Statement in a revealing way? Would such an applicant say, for example, that he prefers to sit around all day smoking pot while collecting government assistance, watching his man-boobs grow? Or that he likens himself to the killer in "Silence of the Lambs" that put his victims in a pit and yelled to them, "PUTS THE LOTION ON!" while wearing a dress? Unlikely, unlikely.

Answering these questions was problematic mostly because I lacked an objective standard against which my answers were to be evaluated. For example, if I had said I didn't believe in God, would that, alone, disqualify me as an adoptive parent? I do believe in God, but you get my point. What if I had been raised in a commune and I reported to the agency that the experience was a positive one that I hope to have again some day. Would that disqualify me as a parent? What if I said I go outside at midnight during each full moon, stripped naked, and pull the petals off of a boquet of roses? Would that disqualify me? Honestly, I don't think these answers are seen on Autobiographical Statements. People pretty much know what to say, because they know what is seen as "normal." In addition supplying answers that can't really be seen as "right" or "wrong," the answers would be fairly easy for a weird person to fake. Which shouldn't bother me since I don't consider myself or my husband of the wierd variety so I'm not sure why I got all worked up about it. But still . . .

My husband said that if I wanted to adopt I had to fill out the questions - "play the game."

After I answered the questions, however, I realized that the questions were not for the agency but for me. I needed to think again about issues I've taken for granted for so long. Issues such as how I'm going to do things differently, if at all, from the way I was raised to evaluating my husband's weaknesses.

And there's something that my husband said about me in his Autobiographical Statement that made the whole process worth the effort. He said I fall in love quickly and completely. I do, but I worry that others see me as guarded and careful. I don't want to be seen that way. What a gift in one sentence.

I finished the Autobiographical Statement a year ago. I haven't looked at it since.

Georgia, II

This morning Georgia wrote a letter to Song Song. The letter reads,

"It's a letter for Song Song! She's cute! From Sissy. P.S. Cute."

As we wrestled on the couch this morning after she wrote the letter, she looked up at me with serious eyes:

Mom, what if people aren't nice to me anymore?

Me: Hmmmm. You mean after we bring Song Song home?

Georgia: Yes. What if they're nicer to her than to me and they don't pay attention to me when Song Song gets here?

Me: Well, that would not be fun, would it? Are you worried that people will pay more attention to Song Song than to you?

Georgia: Yes.

Me: I wouldn't like that either. But it might happen at least at first, because she will be new and people will be so excited to see her. I tell you what. When Song Song gets here and you feel like people are paying more attention to her than to you, will you promise to come to me and say, "Mom, I've got a secret." Then tell me what you're feeling and we'll talk about it.

Georgia: O.K. But what will you do?

Me: Well, I won't be able to stop people from paying attention to Song Song, and I don't want to stop them. After all, Song Song will be a new member of our family and people will want to welcome her. But I will promise to listen to how you're feeling and together we can try to come up with a solution. O.K.?

Georgia: O.K. Sounds good.

Me: Guess what? When I was your age, your Aunt Karla was so cute and had such a funny laugh that my cousins would play with her more than me and it made me feel bad. So I think I know how you might feel.

Georgia: What did you do?

Me: Nothing. I just stayed mad. But it would have helped if I would have talked to someone about it. That's why I hope you talk to me. O.K?

Georgia: O.K. I will. But I'm excited for Song Song to get here and It's o.k. if people pay more attention to her for awhile.

Me: You're a good sister, Georgia. I love you.

Georgia: I love you too, Mom.

Georgia

It's impossible to plan to bring another child into our family without seriously considering the effect it will have on Georgia. I told a wise friend the other day that I ask Georgia daily how she feels about the adoption, going to China and having a younger sibling. (Her answer is always the same: "good.") The wise friend said, maybe you shouldn't ask her so often; she might think there's something she's supposed to be feeling. Well said. So I don't ask her every day. But I do check from time-to-time.

Of course, I've been through the mental gymnastics of wondering whether we are doing the right thing for her. And I know we are. I know a lot of only children. Most of them say their childhoods were good, that they loved their parents and that they aren't "spoiled." But I think if they are honest, most of them would say that they would have preferred having a brother or sister.

A few years ago, I absent-mindedly said to my Mom, "I always wanted a sister." (First-time readers: I have an older sister with Downs Syndrome.) Somewhat indignantly, my Mom said, "you DO have a sister." Of course I do. I adore my sister. The love I have for my sister is complicated. It's fierce and compassionate and ordinary all at the same time. My comment wasn't meant as a slight. I meant that I always wanted a sister who would tell me not to wear sweaters with Christmas trees and bells on them, who would laugh with me at inappropriate times during weddings, and who would go shopping with me. That kind of sister. That said, I know sisters who don't like each other that much, who are competitive beyond belief, or who are separated by distance or time or events.

But adoption is a strange thing because the parents can choose the gender of their child. We considered adopting a boy. My husband is the last male on his side of the family, and I failed to produce a fair-haired heir. And it would have been nice to have "one of each." But we felt that the odds that Georgia would remain close to a sibling during her life might increase if her sibling was the same gender. We might be wrong, but we're doing our best in this rather unusual process.

When we concluded that we would be travelling to China to bring home a child, I instantly recalled a trip my sister-in-law took there about fifteen years ago. She visited a rural village in which the residents touched her hair because they had never seen blond hair before. Before we knew what part of China we would visit, I imagined enduring this, in addition to the rabies shots I would have to get prior to the trip. I couldn't imagine taking Georgia to any place requiring rabies shots in advance. However, Georgia and I don't like being separated for more than two or three days; the trip will last at least a couple of weeks.

When we were told we will travel to Shenzhen and that rabies shots aren't given to people travelling to large cities like this, I knew Georgia would come along. She won't have to endure the anxiety of being separated from us for such a long time, only to have to share us with a total stranger when we come home. Shenzhen has parks, carnivals and zoos. My Mom is coming with us for moral support and to watch Georgia when we are otherwise occupied. She will meet Song Song when we do, get to know her when we do, and watch the whole process unfold. And my Mom isn't going as a babysitter. She's my Mom and I love her. She's a good travelling companion, too. Oh, and a good wine drinking buddy.

Names

Last night we received a DVD from our agency containing a short video of Song Song that was taken in February. I was somewhat apprehensive about reviewing it, fearing that I would see a sickly or unhealthy child. What I saw in the video made my week.

The video, taken in the orphanage, shows Song Song in a cute little pink outfit with ducks on it. She is standing in the middle of a conference or meeting room, and is surrounded by four or five caregivers who are speaking to her in Chinese - my assumption is that they're asking her to smile, to sing, and to say hello. Song Song looks at them as if to say, "um. I don't think I'll be doing any of that." She has the eyes of an old soul, and she is much more beautiful than we imagined. The only photographs we have of her are from doctors reports and medical records.

At two years old, she is walking and running. She looks extremely healthy and well-taken care of. She has a little round face, chubby cheeks, and cupid lips. And she did a little dance, just swaying her hips too and fro. She is a little doll.

I am terribly relieved because, although her medical records reveal that she is a healthy, happy child, I have heard of that often adopted children are small and developmentally delayed until they arrive home. Soon after returning to the states, they quickly catch up. But the child I saw in the video appeared to be every bit as healthy and developed as our biological child was at that age. I have watched it about 17 times since we received it.

I asked our daughter what Song Song's American name should be. "Coco" was her answer. No. we have to keep thinking, I said.

My good friend Kiersten (Katyess to all of you) sent me a card in the mail a few days back. Apparently, I had sent her suggestions for names for at least two of her three children, the oldest of which is graduating from high school this year. You can imagine what my suggested names were. The ones I recall were "Senator," and "Pea Eye."

Here they are:

1. Glendine;
2. Ashanti;
3. Playa (Ply-ah);
4. Lute (Multi-purpose - an ode to our alma mater, Pacific Lutheran University; the name of an instrument that plays songs; and rhymes with flute, which is an instrument I play);
5. Stinkwaddio - actually a recurring nickname for Kiersten's kids, which she tells me I can feel free to use;
6. Any common name, only spelled phonetically, such as "Viktoryah," (Kiersten's cousin actually named/spelled her daughter this), or "Cawnee";
7. Anything beginning with a "K," such as Kara, Karra, Kyla, Kayla, Kaylee, Keela, Koola & the Gang, or - my personal favorite - Kehyl'ar (a girl in Kiersten's daughter's class is named this);
8. Nigela (Kiersten's personal serious favorite). I like it too, Kier, but it reminds me of one of the judges on America's Next Top Model, Nigel. He is a dick.

Egan, can I have any of your rejected names?

Intention

From 1993 to last year, we had two greyhounds, Rosie and Archie. When we lived in a condo and didn't have a yard to run them in, we'd take them on walks or runs along the beach. It's fair to say that every day, at least one stranger would stop us and ask, "Did you rescue them?" or "What beautiful dogs. Are they rescues?" Technically, we got the dogs from an organization charged with placing racing dogs in homes, but we didn't really think of our relationship with our dogs as one of rescuer/rescued. They were just our dogs. Realizing that people's intentions were good, we usually responded, "well, we did get them from a greyhound organization and they raced for a time." Often, this was followed by something along the lines of how great we were to do such a thing or how they wished more people would do it, and so on. My husband and I thought about it in much simpler terms: we wanted dogs, they wanted people, we wanted each other, we found each other.

Tonight I had dinner with an old friend whose brothers and sisters are all adopted from different countries around the world. (My friend is blond and blue eyed, like me). How did I not know this? Apparently her mother's career, before she retired, was placing children from around the world in homes. My friend's mother, when sifting through applications to adopt, considered it a red flag when an applicant would respond to the question "why do want to adopt?" with "because there are so many needy children in the world." According to my friend's mother, such an answer, while generally true, suggested that perhaps the parent's need to be a good Samaritan was greater than the needs of the child.

Perhaps such scrutiny is harsh, but I understand it. Upon hearing this, I did a quick mental review of how we answered that question. I believe our answer was that there was a need in our family, that our family is incomplete, and that we wish to complete our family with a person who is already on the planet. Pretty simple.

There is a great deal of attention these days to celebrities who adopt children. I think celebrities are probably no different than anyone else, they just have more money and more notoriety. Accordingly, many of them probably adopt in order to enhance their sense of themselves, and some probably adopt to complete their families. I really can't be the judge.

Perhaps writing about the adoption process in such a public way is akin to asking for praise. I hope not. Fundamentally, I want to chronicle the process for my friends and family who ask a lot of good questions. I have also made many good friends in cyberspace who I think are interested. And, yes, I like to hear myself talk. Let's be honest.

When our adoptive daughter is home with us, she will be a part of our family and superfluities or impure motives, if any, will quickly fall away. I don't believe such motives exist with us, but I check myself each and every day.

And yes, I realize that children are not greyhounds. Greyhounds run faster and have to go to the dentist more often.

Promise Children

We arrived at the introductory meeting - a mandatory meeting held by the agency we would use to adopt - late. The only seats available were in the front of the room, which was filled with about twenty folding chairs, four across and five deep. The staff person leading the introductory meeting began by welcoming us and politely acknowledging that all of us are probably here to adopt a healthy infant. She asked us to take home the booklet that was placed on each of our chairs, a booklet full of "Promise Children."

Promise Children are those who have physical or mental abnormalities, delays, injuries, or something else that renders them not otherwise "perfect" according to their country of birth. I flipped through the booklet. Big mistake - first, because I was in the very front, which means that every one saw my shoulders shudder up and down as I sobbed, and second - because most of these children have Downs Syndrome, in addition to cerebral palsy and other sever forms of mental retardation. My older sister and only sibling has Downs Syndrome. I'm a goner. My husband lovingly took the booklet out of my hands and said, "You know you shouldn't be looking at that now," and I realize what comfort it is to be married to someone who knows me better than I do.

The staff person asked us to please consider for adoption one of the Promise Children inside the booklet. She apologized for the somewhat impersonal method of placing such children inside a booklet, but she explained that it is nearly impossible to persuade people to adopt such a child were it not for such a catalogue. This seems illogical to me. If a person wanted to adopt a child with special needs, wouldn't they already know it? If a decision to adopt a child with special needs is based solely upon viewing a picture in a booklet, then is it wise to let an adoptive parent, so easily and naively led, become the parent in such a situation? Probably not. But I know I am not going to adopt one of these children, so I let it lie.

I have spent a lifetime as the sibling of a mentally disabled sister beating myself up over the fact that I am NOT the best person to take care of a special needs child. And my sister, relatively speaking, was an easy special needs child. I could go into the countless hours of therapy and self-loathing I have endured over this fact, but it is a fact that remains unshakable to my core. I am impatient, physically active, quick, and I need a lot of feedback. Parents of special needs kids must live in a world where they are patient, often (but not always) physically inactive, where the world moves excruciatingly slow, and where feedback or gratifying events are parceled out differently than in the world of "normal" kids. I decided long ago to leave the special needs kids to those who are equipped to raise them, and I'll do my best to make the most of who I am.

So I moved away from the Promise Children booklet and devoured an hour full of questions and answers about the adoption process. We knew we wanted to adopt internationally, rather than adopt an American child.

In the American system, there are non-private and private adoptions. Non-private adoptions seldom involve infants, and most of the time only older children are available for adoption. Tragically, these older children have often been the victims of physical and sexual abuse and require parents who are able to deal with such a background. And the parents must become legal foster parents before they can adopt children. We knew we are not the right parents for such troubled kids, especially because we have a six year-old biological child.

Private adoptions typically involve unwed mothers who are looking for families to adopt their children. I have a friend going through this process right now. It is, more or less, a beauty contest. When the mother "picks" the family to adopt her child, she has a window of opportunity after the birth in which she can change her mind. My friend has been told that she should expect "at least one" adoption to fall through after the mother gives birth. The expense is staggering, as the adoptive parents are often paying for the birth mother's medical and living expenses. I quickly dismissed this type of adoption as a possibility. I couldn't imagine outfitting a nursery, paying for the mother's boyfriend's car and stereo repair, or whatever, only to have her change her mind. Infuriating. But it happens. In my view, these kind of adoptions are nothing more than emotional extortion.

So we settled on the international adoption system. Now we would have to decide which country we were comfortable adopting from.

Learning in the Valleys

How did this all start? When we decided to have children several years ago, I discovered that all the money I spent on birth control over the years probably hadn't been necessary. After over two years of trying to get pregnant, without any diagnosis whatsoever as to why we could not conceive, I accepted my infertile-state as the universe's punishment for deigning to compete in a man's world and under a man's biological schedule. I had been through college and law school, and worked for several years before hearing the tick-tock of my biological clock. So, at thirty-five, we prepared mentally and physically for the addition of a child to our family. But nothing happened.

As the months and years wore on, I became increasingly depressed at the loss of something I took for granted - the ability to reproduce. The grief I endured was not simply over a fruitless struggle, but over the belief that I would leave nothing of any value behind to show that I was here long after I was gone. This emptiness had nothing to do with a lack of love in my life. I was loved. It was an existential angst that was impossible to articulate. So we did what any self-respecting childless couple in their thirties does - we stopped trying to conceive, we sold our house, put all our stuff in storage and moved to the beach.

We spent ten months living like college students - college students with money. We roller-bladed, jogged, dined out, shopped, and lived the high life until the novelty of it wore off. Then we considered our options. My husband desperately wanted a biological child. I wanted to adopt. I had travelled through my angst to the other side. I knew that parenthood was much more than nine months of pregnancy. I knew that I wanted to be a parent, and that adoption was simply another way to do just that. Adoption wasn't "settling," or "the next best thing;" it was something I was excited to pursue.

But I respected my husband's wishes to have a biological child. So we saw a specialist who put me through more tests (I thought I had been through all of them and had tried everything). I agreed to try for six months to conceive - no more, no less. Our agreement was that if I was not pregnant in six months, we would pursue adoption. I was pregnant the following month. Apparently, looking the demon (infertility) in the eyes and laughing at him makes one incredibly fertile. Our daughter, Georgia, is now six and she is an angel from heaven.

We agreed that our second child would be an adopted child. We had been blessed with a biological child and we felt -feel - that we are the right family to provide a home to a child who would otherwise be lost in an impersonal and cruel system. So began the paperwork, evaluations, fingerprinting, and reports - and that is just the tip of the iceberg.

Here, I hope to chronicle the manual side of adoption - the nuts and bolts from a lay-person's perspective - as well as the emotional journey we have undertaken. We have been "assigned" a beautiful two-year old girl named Song Song. We plan to travel to Shenzhen in June or July to bring her home. We are excited beyond words.